


Old MacDonald's Bed and Breakfast

by OzQueen



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Haunted Houses, Monsters, Nightmares, Pumpkins, Scarecrows, Sharing a Bed, Stranded, ToT: Trick - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 20:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12465764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/pseuds/OzQueen
Summary: Non-haunted rooms cost extra.





	Old MacDonald's Bed and Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wnnbdarklord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wnnbdarklord/gifts).



 

* * *

The house appeared first as a dark shadow — a darker shadow than the surrounding woods; darker than the black clouds covering the sky; darker than the wet blacktop beneath their feet.

"Mrs MacDonald's Bed and Breakfast," Velma said, reading from the weather-beaten sign hanging by the gate.

"Well, gang, it looks like our luck has changed!" Fred announced. "Why don't we see if they have a couple of spare rooms, and maybe in the morning we can find somebody to take us into town for a new fan belt?"

"I don't think we have much choice," Daphne said, touching her damp hair anxiously and looking up at the heavy sky. "It might rain again any minute."

"Maybe it'd be safer to just stay in the van," Shaggy said nervously, hunching his shoulders as he looked up at the house. "Like, let's turn back and just wait it out until morning."

Fred cheerfully ignored him. "Come on!" he said. "Let's see if they have any rooms available."

Daphne pulled her coat firmly around herself and followed Fred quickly.

"Something tells me we're not going to have a problem finding a room," Velma said, glancing around. "I don't see any other cars here."

There was a wide, circular driveway made of gravel, which crunched under their shoes as they strode towards the house. Seasonal frosts had made short work of the remaining roses — there were no buds left, and the leaves were dark and wilted. An orchard broke a path in the dark woods surrounding the house, neat rows of bare fruit trees quivering in the cold wind. A scarecrow stood just beyond the fence, arm spread wide, his pumpkin head grinning eerily up at the house.

"Did that scarecrow just move?" Shaggy whimpered.

"It's just a Halloween decoration, Shaggy," Velma assured him. "Nobody really makes scarecrows out of pumpkins."

"That doesn't really do anything to make me feel better," Shaggy said, clutching Scooby's collar tightly.

Grotesque jack-o-lanterns decorated the stone steps leading up to the front door, though the wind and rain had made short work of any flames supposed to be dancing inside. Their empty mouths and eyes yawned up at them as they passed. Despite the cold weather, the smell of rot was sweet in the air.

Daphne pinched her nose and hurried after Fred. "Uh, Freddy, are you sure the Mystery Machine couldn't make it into town?" she asked, her previous enthusiasm for a hot shower and a soft bed suddenly paling now she was in the shadow of the house itself.

Fred laughed with his usual good nature. "Without a fan belt? No chance." He tugged on the bell rope beside the door. "We'll just have to make the best of it, Daph. One night won't kill us."

Shaggy gulped, and quivered behind Velma. "We're gonna hold you to that one, Fred."

After a moment, the front door swung open of its own accord. The entrance foyer was dark and empty, dead leaves rattling across the patterned tiles, which were grimy with dust. A flickering light to the left drew the group into a dim living room with high ceilings. A single candle burned at a desk loaded with books and papers.

"M-Mrs MacDonald?" Fred's teeth chattered a little (but only because of the cold, he told himself).

The old woman behind the desk squinted cloudy blue eyes at him. Her hair was long and white and braided over her shoulder, and her fingertips were stained with ink. "How many rooms?" she asked.

"Four please," Fred said cheerfully. "And we hope it's all right if we have a dog."

She leaned around him and sniffed in Scooby's direction, narrowing her eyes. He hid behind Shaggy's leg and moaned a little.

"Dogs cost extra," she said.

"Okay." Fred nodded.

"Do the rooms have bathrooms, or are they shared…?" Daphne touched her damp hair again.

"Bathrooms cost extra."

"Sure, okay." Fred waved at everyone to be quiet. "So uh, do you have four rooms available?"

Mrs MacDonald sighed laboriously and opened a leather bound book across the desk. "Names?"

"Fred Jones," Fred said. "And Daphne Blake, Velma Dinkley —"

"Slow down!" she snapped. She scrawled each name painstakingly in her book, and then opened the top drawer of her desk, withdrawing four brass keys. "Breakfast is served downstairs from six," she said. "But it costs extra."

"S-sure," Shaggy said. "We're like, probably going to skip breakfast anyway, right Scoob?"

"Yeah," Scooby said, still shivering behind him.

The others looked at him in surprise.

"Top floor," Mrs MacDonald said, pointing to the stairs. "Don't wake my other tenants."

"Of course," Velma said. "Thank you very much. We'll see you in the morning."

"Good night," Fred added.

Dust sifted over their shoes as they walked back across the carpet and into the entrance hall again, where the grand staircase led to the upper floors. Small lamps set into the walls flickered and twinkled, casting barely enough light to see by.

"This place sure is creepy," Daphne whispered, sticking close to Fred. "Maybe it really is haunted."

"Gee, I hope not," Fred said, yawning. "I could really use a good night's sleep."

The stairs creaked and groaned beneath their weight as they continued up to the upper floors of the house. Velma was the first to find her room, and the others clustered around her curiously as she unlocked the door, flicking the light switch.

The room was small, with peeling wallpaper and a neatly-made bed covered in a floral bedspread. A large wardrobe made of dark wood stood in the corner by the window, which looked out over the back of the house.

"Oh, it's charming," Daphne said, unconvincingly.

"Night, you guys," Velma said wearily. "Breakfast at six?"

"Like, will it even be daylight by then?" Shaggy asked.

"Breakfast at six," Fred agreed. "Let's all meet downstairs, eat breakfast, and then when it's light out, we can get a lift to town and organize repairs for the Mystery Machine."

"Sounds good," Velma agreed. She waved goodnight and shut the door.

"Looks like this is us, Scoob," Shaggy said, gesturing at the door opposite. Their room looked much the same — the bed was a little bigger, and their window gave them a full view of the orchard and its grinning scarecrow.

"Does anyone want to switch rooms?" Shaggy moaned, trembling as he looked out at his view.

"Night, Shaggy!" Fred said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't let the bed bugs bite, Scoob."

Scooby drew in a panicked breath and sneezed out a mouthful of dust.

Past several other rooms, down the other end of the corridor, Daphne and Fred found their rooms opposite one another.

Daphne lingered a little, wondering if Fred was in the mood to perhaps hang around and talk a little.

"Goodnight, Daphne!" he said cheerfully, firmly shutting the door to his room.

Daphne's heart sank. "Goodnight."

She swung the door to her room open, and flicked the lights. Like the others, they took some time to come on, flickering once or twice before slowly warming to a steady orange glow. She shut the door behind her and went to the window. The heavy drapes moved slightly, the windows rattling in the wind. She looked out over the front gardens — the circular driveway and the overgrown rose beds. The woods were thick and dark for as far as the eye could see, except where the orchard stood, and where the road cut through the trees like a black ribbon. There didn't look to be another house for miles.

She shivered and pulled the drapes closed. There was another door set into the wall. Faded gold lettering was peeling on the wood.  _Bathroom_.

Longing for a hot shower, she swung the door open and found herself suddenly flooded with light. The room was small and gleaming with white tiles and brass fixtures, all a little shiny from warm steam.

Daphne jumped in alarm — she had interrupted another guest's bathing. A woman sat in the tub, soapy water lapping at the brim, her long dark hair spread over the water's surface like tendrils of seaweed. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her red lipstick was bleeding over her wet skin.

"Oh gosh!" Daphne clapped a hand over her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize the bathroom was shared between rooms. I'll just…" She backed out, feeling her way behind her with her free hand. "So sorry." She closed the bathroom door, a wave of steam billowing behind her.

She fanned her face, embarrassed. There was no noise from the bathroom — just the steady dripping of a tap.

She sat on the end of her bed to wait.

* * *

Shaggy wrestled with the heavy velvet drapes hanging either side of the window in his room, but it did no good — they simply would not close. Rainwater still flecked the glass, and the cold wind rattled the panes in their frames and seeped its way into the room.

There was no moon, and yet the scarecrow in the orchard seemed to glow eerily. Shaggy looked out at it and trembled.

"It's just a scarecrow," he whispered to himself. "It's just a scarecrow. It's just a scarecrow."

Scooby scrabbled around behind him and launched himself onto the bed, burrowing down into the mattress. Shaggy glanced back at him, and then back at the scarecrow — which tipped its head back and grinned up at him with a wide, empty mouth.

"Arrrrrrgh!" Shaggy screamed. He jumped the wide space from the window to the bed in a single bound, grabbing the bedspread and pulling it over his head. "The scarecrow is alive!"

Scooby gave a little howl of alarm, and they both plunged themselves deeper into the bed, Scooby's noise poking out of a small fold in the blankets, quivering in the cold air.

They shivered and shook, clutching one another tightly, hearts thumping loudly. The old house creaked and groaned around them, but nothing else stirred. Nobody had come to investigate the commotion.

"Like, where is Velma?" Shaggy whispered. "Some friend she is, not coming to investigate whether or not we're being murdered by a scarecrow."

There was a loud creak, and they both fell silent, hugging one another tightly, still trembling with fear.

"Like, maybe I imagined it," Shaggy whispered hopefully, trying his hardest not to think of that blank, carved-out face. "Maybe it was just the wind."

There was a thud out in the corridor, and they both fell silent. A few seconds ticked past, and then came a loud rattle at the door — the knob being tested.

"Maybe that's just Velma," Shaggy whispered.

Another rattle, and then the door creaked open. Scooby's nose quivered — he could feel cold air coming into the room.

There was another noise, too — almost too low to hear, but his ears pricked up and he listened carefully. Scratchy, whispering straw moving and shifting against itself. It sounded heavy; it lurched its weight forward and Scooby could hear it taking staggered, uneven steps across the floor.

It stopped at the end of the bed, still rustling gently.

"Raggy," he whispered.

Shaggy's eyes were wide, but all he could see was the darkness beneath the bedspread. He kept his voice as quiet as he could, mindful of the scratchy footsteps he'd heard stop at the foot of the bed. "Yeah, Scoob?"

Scooby whimpered and shook beside him. "I smell rumpkin."

* * *

Velma snuggled back into the pillows on her bed. They smelled a little musty, but the bed was comfortable, and she was warm and cozy now that she was out of her damp clothes. She thought the rain had started again — she could hear it ticking gently against the window, _tap-tap-tappity-tap_.

She wriggled deeper into the bed and opened her book up against her propped knees, planning on reading a chapter or two before getting some sleep.

She shrieked when her door burst open violently, the lock completely giving way under Shaggy and Scooby's panicked attack. They both launched themselves towards her bed, diving under the covers and making terrified wailing noises.

"What are you _doing_?" she demanded, batting them away. "You're making enough noise to wake the dead!"

"Like, we don't need to!" Shaggy cried. "They're already awake!"

Velma fought her way out of the shaking bedclothes and shut the door firmly, folding her arms over her chest. "What are you talking about? Keep your voices down, there are probably other guests trying to get some sleep."

"That scarecrow," Shaggy said through chattering teeth. "The one we saw outside — it's alive and it came up to our room and was standing at the foot of the bed!"

Velma rolled her eyes. "Did you guys eat some bad ham or something?"

"We're serious!" Shaggy said, peering at her from beneath her own bedspread. "I looked out the window at it, and it looked right back at me, and we heard footsteps! It came into our room, it unlocked the door and made these creepy, scratchy footsteps all the way to the end of the bed! When I peeked out at it, it had disappeared, but there was straw all over the floor!"

"Yeah!" Scooby added indignantly.

Velma sighed and pushed her glasses up her nose. "You guys —"

"Like, please can we just stay here with you," Shaggy begged.

"Pathetic," Velma muttered, but she climbed back into bed.

Scooby nestled his way between them with a happy sigh.

"Thanks, Velma," Shaggy whispered.

"If you wanted to spend the night, you could have just asked," she said. "You didn't need to make up some crummy story about a walking jack-o-lantern."

Scooby buried his head under her pillow. Shaggy gave her a nervous smile.

She sighed and turned back to her book.

* * *

Daphne was still damp, and feeling colder by the minute. She breathed out and could see her breath hanging in the air.

She glanced at the bathroom door anxiously. Her neighbor hadn't made any indication that she was done bathing, but surely…

She got to her feet and tapped gently at the bathroom door. "Hello?" she asked. "Hello, I was just wondering if you were almost done? I was caught in the rain, you see…"

There was no sound other than the gentle dripping of water.

 _Maybe I could use Freddy's bathroom_ , Daphne thought. But she had been waiting some time, and she thought perhaps Fred might be asleep by now…

She sighed and knocked again, before timidly opening the door.

The bathroom was dark. There was no steam or warmth, and when Daphne flicked the light on, the mirror was spotty and grimy, and a layer of dust coated the inside of the tub.

She blinked at it all in surprise, and was then immediately annoyed. She checked her room again for another door — were there _two_ bathrooms? Perhaps she had simply imagined the other woman bathing, however vivid it may have seemed.

"If this is a practical joke," she said, hands on her hips, "it isn't _funny_." She waited, but there was no sound. Tutting to herself, she turned the faucet. Water sputtered loudly from the shower head — at first a rusty brown, but then it ran clear and hot, steam rising to bathe her face and fog the spotted mirror above the bathroom counter.

Daphne sighed with relief and wriggled out of her damp clothes. She stepped under the spray of the shower and tipped her head back to let the water run through her red hair. She had travel-sized bottles of her favorite primrose shampoo, and after being forced to wait so long for what had turned out to be nothing, she wanted to spoil herself with a little pampering.

* * *

Fred frowned up at the ceiling above his bed sleepily. There was a large water stain, and he was trying to figure out if it looked more like an octopus or a spider.

 _Octopus_ , he decided. He blinked at it, and it seemed to waver and swim in front of his eyes.

He yawned. It had been a long day, and unexpected events with the Mystery Machine had meant he'd spent a great deal of the day thinking harder than he'd planned to. He deserved an early night and a sound sleep.

He nestled into his pillows. In a way, the wind outside was a comforting sort of noise — it murmured constantly against the house, whispering through the surrounding woods and groaning down the chimneys.

He blinked up at the water stain again. The shadows had shifted — perhaps the moon had finally come out — and it looked a little different now. Pale on the ceiling, with long, dark snaking tendrils stretching down the wall behind him.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes again.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes when a strange sound made him stir. It was a wet, sticky sort of noise, and it seemed to come from within the wall behind Fred's bed.

He rolled over sleepily, hoping that the water stain didn't mean he'd have water dripping on him through the night. He thought the rain had stopped outside, but he wasn't sure how long it would take any residual water to leak through his ceiling.

He rolled over again. He couldn't get comfortable, and the room was cold. His toes were starting to prickle as though they were numb.

He was so close to sleep, however, that his body seemed incapable of moving.

The noise behind the wall seemed louder now — like the sucking of a wet mouth.

Fred frowned into his pillow. His chest felt tight, like iron bands were squeezing him tightly.

He drew in a sharp breath, but it hurt. The air was cold. He tried to roll over, but his entire body felt numb. He felt a weight between his shoulder blades, crushing him into the mattress, pressing the breath out of his lungs. He tried to move, but his arms were pinned, his legs bound together beneath the thin blankets. He opened his eyes in a panic, but everything was pitch black.

He couldn't breathe; he couldn't move — and then Daphne screamed, and the noise sparked something in him that left him free to leap from the bed with a gasp.

He fell to his knees, choking for breath, and he heard something slither behind the bed in the dark. His limbs still prickling, he staggered to his feet and ran to Daphne's room, bursting through her door without knocking.

She squealed and clutched a towel tightly around her, water gleaming on her pale skin. "Fred! What are you doing?"

"Why'd you scream?" Fred gasped.

She raised the towel a little higher against her chest. "Because you burst in on me!"

"No, before that!" Fred said breathlessly. "I heard you scream."

"I didn't scream." She glanced worriedly at the door. "Maybe it was Shaggy?"

"No, it was definitely you," Fred said firmly. "I know what you sound like when you scream, Daph. It was a very Daphne sort of scream."

"I did _not_ scream," Daphne insisted. "You must have had a nightmare, Freddy."

Fred almost argued — but then he remembered the weight pressing down on his chest, and the strange paralysis which had come over him. His shoulders sagged. "I guess you're right," he said. "I didn't think I'd fallen asleep, but I must have!"

"You're very tired," Daphne said sympathetically. "You should get some rest."

"I will," he agreed. "Good night, Daphne. Sleep tight."

She smiled at him before he closed the door. He stood in the dark corridor for a moment, sweat cooling on his brow. His heartbeat had returned to normal, but he still felt a little short of breath. He drew in a couple of deep sighs, filling his lungs, before he opened his bedroom door again.

The water stain on his wall had moved — and then he saw it, a dark shadow clambering over his bed and up the wall , tentacles grabbing at the wall and the ceiling until it settled into place above his bed again.

Fred stared at it in amazement. He waited in the open doorway, watching it carefully, but it didn't move again. It looked just as it had when he'd first climbed into bed — but he could have sworn he'd just seen it moving; clambering over itself, retreating from where Fred had been sleeping just moments before.

A chill ran down his spine, but he ignored it and went to his overnight bag, rummaging for his flashlight. He found it, but he hesitated. He squinted up at the stain again. It had probably just been a trick of the light. "Go on then," he said, daring it to move again.

Nothing happened — it remained a water stain, an ugly shadow with trailing tendrils reaching down towards his bed.

He shook his head. Daphne was right. He was tired. He clambered back into bed, but he kept hold of his flashlight.

Just in case.

* * *

Velma was almost asleep when Shaggy's hand gently grasped her upper arm.

"Velma?" he whispered loudly.

"Mm," she said, shrugging him off. "Go to sleep, Shaggy."

"What's that noise?" he asked.

Scooby snuffled and snored between them.

"What noise?" Velma asked.

"That tapping… Don't you hear it?"

Velma sighed, annoyed. "It's the rain against the window, Shaggy."

_Tap-tap-tappity-tap._

Shaggy fell silent, though he squirmed a little closer, sandwiching Scooby up against Velma's side. She sighed and rolled over, and Shaggy's hand closed over her arm again.

"What's _that_ noise?" he asked, his voice an urgent whisper.

"It's an old house, Shaggy," Velma snapped. "There are going to be a lot of noises, okay? Go to sleep, or go back to your own room."

"Like, no thanks," Shaggy gasped. He buried himself down next to Scooby Doo.

Velma snuggled into her pillow.

The tapping stopped, but was soon replaced by another noise — a low roar, like wind funneling down a chimney.

 _That's probably exactly what it is_ , Velma thought to herself, listening to it roar and rattle through the room. It seemed to vibrate and shake the beams of the ceiling; she could feel it travel through the bed posts and shake the bed.

She braced herself for more cowardly noises from Shaggy, but they didn't come. His hand was still closed over her arm, like touching her would save him from whatever pumpkin-creatures the dark may be hiding.

Something rattled in the corner of the room — somehow, the wind had shaken the wardrobe doors open.

Velma winced, but didn't move. She hoped it was just the room shifting, and that things would soon adjust and fall silent again.

There was a scraping noise. She cracked her eyes open and saw a dark shadow falling across the floor. It looked like a large hand — long, hooked fingers with large claws stretched from the open wardrobe door to the dusty rug which lay across the floorboards.

She watched it for several long moments, curious enough about the shape to see if it would move. A hundred previous adventures with silly shadows and menacing trickery played through her mind.

Nothing stirred.

She closed her eyes again and let herself drift closer to sleep.

* * *

Daphne loosened the towel from around her wet hair and tousled the damp locks through her fingers.

She climbed into bed and pulled the blankets over her knees, still scrunching her hair with a damp towel. She looked up, and her heart sank as she realized she'd left the bathroom light on.

She sat for a moment, thinking about how Fred probably rigged these sorts of situations with rope and switches and mechanical arms so he never had to get out of bed again to turn the light off…

"Darn it, Daphne," she grumbled to herself, tossing the bedclothes back and crossing back to the bathroom irritably. "Just —"

She threw the door open and gasped as a cloud of steam billowed over her. The tub was full again, soapy water slopping over the sides onto the tiled floor. There was a wet hand print smeared in the condensation on the mirror.

Afraid, but curious, Daphne edged towards the full tub. The surface was milky with soap residue, and for a moment she saw nothing… and then a shadow.

The woman lay at the bottom of the tub, dark hair spread around her head in a cloud. Daphne could see the red stripe of her lipstick.

Daphne edged closer, her heart in her throat. "Are you all right?" she asked, voice quivering. "Do you… do you need help?"

The woman opened her eyes — the looked like black, empty buttons, and Daphne gasped and took half a step back. A long, pale arm shot out of the tub, reaching for her, water sloshing onto the tiled floor. Strong fingers grasped Daphne's wrist, and tried to tug her forwards.

Daphne screamed and slipped on the wet tiles, falling hard. She scrambled back into the bedroom, dragging herself over the carpet, the breath knocked out of her lungs. A wave of water followed her, hitting her back and soaking her all over her again.

She heard the bathroom door slam shut behind her, steam blowing in a final cloud towards the ceiling.

She gasped a breath and scrambled to her feet, running for Fred's room. She was surprised — and, frankly, insulted — that he hadn't come running after she'd screamed for real.

"Freddy!" she choked, banging at his door. "Freddy, there's a ghost in my bathtub!"

She waited impatiently for him to burst forth heroically and insist that they investigate, but there was silence. She frowned, her heart stilling somewhat. She pressed her ear to his door. There was a loud thump.

"Fred?" She tried the door, and found it unlocked. Fred's room was dark — she could only see the rectangle of light spilling from the doorway, and the length of her own shadow. Something glinted by the end of Fred's bed — his flashlight, which he must have dropped.

"Freddy?" Daphne whispered, suddenly worried he was asleep and she'd disturbed him. She crept forward and took the flashlight from the floor. She clicked it on and shone it conservatively towards the end of his bed — and a long, snake-like shadow wriggled and retreated out of the path of light.

Daphne gasped and moved the flashlight, chasing the shadow. A large, black mass curled and retreated. It was flat, like a shadow, but it moved like a giant squid — all limbs and tentacles crawling over one another. It scrambled its way up the wall, and Daphne noticed Fred lying perfectly still in the middle of the bed.

"Fred!" she said, running to him. She kept the flashlight trained on the shadow, and it retreated to the corner, squirming and writhing away from the beam of light. "Fred, wake up. There's a dead woman in my bathroom and a ghost octopus on your ceiling." She shook him rather violently.

Fred choked and gasped a breath. "Oh," he said. "Hey, Daph."

"Get _up_ ," Daphne snapped, tugging at his leg. "Look!" She pointed at the shadow.

Fred seemed a little foggy-headed. "Gosh, I just had an awful dream," he said. "I feel like an elephant has been sitting on my chest."

"It's a squid, Fred!" Daphne said, pulling at his head. "Look!" She pointed upwards, and Fred glanced up at the ceiling.

He slid out of the bed, staggering a little. He wrapped his arms around his chest. "I think that thing was squeezing me!" he said indignantly. "What do you think it is? Should we get the others? Let's investigate!" He looked at Daphne with a bright smile, but frowned when he saw her wet hair and soaked nightgown. "Why are you wet?"

"There's a woman in my bathtub and she just tried to drown me!" Daphne said crossly. "Why didn't you come when I screamed?"

"I did!" Fred said in surprise. "You said you didn't scream."

"That was _before_ ," Daphne argued.

The shadow quivered and wriggled across the ceiling. Daphne grabbed the back of Fred's pajamas and pulled him out of the room, slamming the door shut.

They stood in the corridor, waiting for the creature to emerge — but it didn't.

Daphne shivered.

"You should get changed," Fred said.

"Into what?" Daphne asked. "Everything I have is wet!"

"You didn't bring your emergency overnight bag?" Fred asked in surprise.

"Of course I did!" Daphne said. She stormed back into her room and pointed at her bag, which was still on the floor by the bathroom door. "But it's been soaked by a tidal wave of bath water!"

"Well that was careless," Fred said. "Here, you can borrow my shirt."

"I…" She trailed off as Fred wriggled out of his striped pajama shirt. "Freddy," she gasped, pointing.

His chest was circled with thick bands of bruises and welts, dark and angry.

"Huh," Fred said, looking down at himself. "I guess it wasn't a dream."

"Are you okay?" Daphne touched his arm, concerned.

"I think so." He touched the bruises over his ribs curiously. "You know, I think you might've saved my life, Daph. That thing would have squeezed me to death if you hadn't come in."

Daphne drew a breath. "Freddy, this place is haunted. I vote we leave, and come back in the morning when we can investigate properly and find out what's going on."

"We can't leave!" Fred said. "The Mystery Machine is miles away, and it's the middle of the night."

Daphne twisted the sleeve of Fred's pajamas in her hands anxiously. "I don't really want to go back into the bathroom," she said.

"Say no more," Fred said, turning his back.

Daphne peeled herself out of yet another wet outfit, and slipped into Fred's over-sized pajama shirt. "I think we should go and find the others," she said. "What if there's a giant octopus squeezing them all right now?"

"Maybe you're right," Fred agreed. "Bring the flashlight."

* * *

Velma stirred. She'd been woken by the quiet scraping of wood against wood, like something grating on the floorboards.

She blinked awake, slightly disoriented. She reached for her glasses so she could check the time, but as she slipped them onto her nose she noticed the window seemed a lot closer than it had before.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. The bed slid a few inches across the floor, and she clutched the mattress in alarm. She looked over at Shaggy and Scooby, but they were both fast asleep — Scooby was drooling on Velma's pillow, and Shaggy's mouth was open. They were both snoring.

The bed slid forward again, another couple of inches. Velma leaned over the side of the bed to investigate, and that's when she saw it.

Rather, that's when she saw it _again_.

The shadow. The claw. Reaching out of the open wardrobe door, grasping the patterned floor rug firmly in its claws and dragging it — and the bed — closer and closer.

Velma gasped, and a large, crescent-shaped eye glowed at her from the dark. She reached over quietly and shook Scooby awake.

Scooby snuffed and rolled over, grumbling. He licked Shaggy's face, and Shaggy laughed in his sleep.

"Guys," Velma whispered. "Guys… wake up…"

The monstrous hand tightened on the carpet again, and dragged it a few inches closer. The bed jerked forward.

"Guys!" Velma bellowed. "Wake up!"

The hand grasped the edge of the bed and dragged it forward. It slammed into the wardrobe, and Velma saw the shiny glint of teeth, and the large claw moved over the side of the mattress and reached for her leg.

Shaggy screamed, and Velma screamed with him. They scrambled backwards, tripping over loose blankets and pillows and landing in a pile on the floor.

The door burst open, and Fred and Daphne appeared, each of them wearing half of Fred's pajamas.

"Is it an octopus?" Daphne gasped, beaming Fred's flashlight into the room.

* * *

"Like, is she gonna come out of there?" Shaggy asked, still quivering.

"I don't think so." Daphne kept Fred's flashlight clenched tightly in her hands. "I think she just wants the bathroom to herself."

They were all huddled in Daphne's bed, blankets drawn up, every light switch flicked on. Fred had rigged the door with ropes and weights — Daphne's overnight bag would crash to the floor if anybody came in.

"That thing in my room definitely wanted to eat us," Velma said. "I vote we come back tomorrow with better supplies, and catch whatever it was."

"Good idea, Velma," Fred agreed. "I bet I can trap it."

Daphne snuggled into his side. "What about the monster in your room?" she asked.

"That's easy," Fred declared. "We know it's scared of light. That'll make it easy to catch."

"There's no sign of any projector or puppetry anywhere that I can see," Velma mused. "It was very realistic."

"That scarecrow was totally alive," Shaggy insisted. "And totally invisible."

"I'm still not sure you saw anything at all," Velma challenged, but she took Shaggy's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze anyway.

"Well I know for sure there's a woman in that tub," Daphne said. She shuddered. "She's angry."

Fred put his arm around her shoulders. "We'll investigate in the morning," he said. "Once it gets light."

"And once we have our gear from the Mystery Machine," Velma added.

Shaggy drew the blankets up to his chin. He and Scooby both whimpered a soft protest.

Fred yawned and rested his cheek against the top of Daphne's head. "It would have saved us a lot of trouble and a lot of money if we'd just decided to get one room in the first place," he said tiredly.

Velma agreed. "We should remember this for next time and just book one room."

"How many haunted houses are you planning on staying in?" Shaggy asked in alarm.

"Well," Fred said thoughtfully, "does it have to be proved to be haunted before we share a room?"

"I don't think that should be a rule," Daphne said, nestling down between Fred and Velma. "Let's just call it a matter of convenience."

"I'm not sure how  _convenient_ it is," Velma said, pushing Shaggy's head gently across her pillow to make room for herself. "But it's definitely comforting, and sometimes that's enough reason for anything."

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
